


Mama Auditore

by knockout_mouse



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Assassin's Creed II, Character Study, Family Feels, Gen, Motherhood, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28703820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knockout_mouse/pseuds/knockout_mouse
Summary: It seemed whatever happened outside Maria's doors had irrevocably changed her son. For worse or better, she could not tell.POV of Maria Auditore, because I have feels and she deserved better.
Relationships: Ezio Auditore da Firenze & Maria Auditore da Firenze
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	Mama Auditore

The bed had been covered in a new quilt earlier that day. Like everything else in Maria’s room, it was adorned with intricate curls and elegant embroidery, paisleys in deep reds and greens, with traces of hand-stitched gold. They were pleasant to trace with her eyes, if not her fingers, bending and gliding with the strokes of a master seamstress. They reminded her of the sort of doodles the young Leonardo would scribble around the edges of a paper when his mind wandered, slowly becoming more intricate as empty space vanished. Here on the bed, the pattern repeated: familiar, spaced so evenly she could count the swirls of the brocade to that of her rosary beads, which had become so smooth from daily use they almost slipped through her fingers like pearls.

The air in Maria’s room was always still. If she wasn’t too deep in thought, she would be aware of the servants’ passings, coming and going like half-formed ghosts. And sometimes there was Claudia, standing a bit aways from her with hands clasped in front, murmuring words that Maria could hear but not understand. These days, there was little she had enough energy to process.

But that was for the living world to concern itself with. As difficult as it was to wade to the surface of her mind, it was similarly easy to sink deep within. The undercurrent would gently carry her back down again, and she’d find herself once more residing in some lost place between the present and the past. 

When she’d arrived at Monteriggioni, she could’ve sworn that, if she was quiet enough, she could hear her husband’s voice. He was there somewhere, laughing with her as they attended a banquet, giddily glancing at each other over the long table as they waited for the perfect moment to announce their engagement to Mario. She was wandering through the gardens with Giovanni in the crystal night air, their entwined hands swinging back and forth. They were a happy couple sitting in the cool shade of an afternoon, idly discussing when to return home before Federico would be born.

And sometimes, her imagination supplied fantasies that could’ve been: a healthier Petruccio dashing through the halls, Claudia giggling with friends, Federico and Ezio playing outside. 

Ah, yes, her boys. She’d thought  _ Federico  _ would be trouble when he reached his teenage years – she’d had no idea what kind of fireball little Ezio would grow up to be! The two barely kept each other out of trouble, and thank goodness Federico had come up with the idea to channel Ezio’s endless energy into learning how to run the rooftops. Who knows where he would’ve ended up otherwise.

_ Dead _ , a part of her brain supplied unhelpfully,  _ he would be dead, just like all the rest of them _ .

That was where her brain snagged and tripped. It was like stumbling upon a scratched-out error burned into a beautifully adorned book: this was something that  _ should not be there _ . Should not have happened. The night her husband and sons were stuck in prison, she’d stayed awake for hours praying and convincing herself that everything would be fine. It was the old tune every creature on earth recited in their head:  _ we will be alright, we will be alright _ .

And nothing in her world had moved on from that. Or everything had. She didn’t know what strength drove Claudia and Ezio to keep getting up everyday, as if they weren’t haunted by the souls of their lost family. Sometimes a loud burst of laughter would erupt from downstairs, and she wasn’t sure which she was hearing: the past or the present. A part of her was glad her children could still laugh sometimes. Still enjoy what life had to offer.

Exhausted, Maria would then sink back down, returning to the sweeter depths of her mind. Days and weeks of silence, of anxious servants tip-toeing around her. 

But sometimes… sometimes Ezio would appear again. He was away longer and longer now, if her grasp on time could even be trusted anymore. There’d been more than one time she’d seen the white hooded robes step through the doorway, and Giovanni would be there, waiting for her with a sad, patient smile. But then he would open his mouth, and it was Ezio who came out, voice far gentler than she had ever heard him back in Florence. 

It seemed whatever happened outside her doors had irrevocably changed her son. For worse or better, she could not tell.

He was stronger now, both in body and mind. She was fairly sure entire years had not passed since they’d come to Monteriggioni, and yet he would walk past her to place white feathers in Petruccio’s box, and his shoulders would span greater than Giovanni’s ever did. Maybe even more than Federico, in those last days when her eldest son had really been growing into his manhood. Before…

_ Don’t think about it! _ a part of her brain screamed, like a shriek from a hot iron,  _ Don’t think about that! _

“Hello, Mother.” Ezio said. How long had he been there, quietly watching her from the foot of the bed?

Ezio sighed, coming over to sit, sliding down the side of the bed till he sat pressed up next to her. He was the only one who got close to Maria. The servants touched her with cold palms, putting on her clothes and taking them off again with utilitarian efficiency. Some moved her around like a priceless vase. Ezio sat close, warmth emanating from him.

“Jacopo de Pazzi is dead. I almost didn’t get to kill him with my own blade, but…” his shoulders shrugged awkwardly, “By the time I reached him he had no time left to say anything. He just… died.”

Maria closed her eyes. As gentle as her son’s voice was, the words he spoke were ugly and jagged, like shards of glass against her wrists. She turned over another rosary bead, leaning into their solid rhythm to try and escape more talk of death and destruction.

She heard a sob, and her eyes pried themselves open, forcing her to the surface. Ezio slumped against her, head tucked between his knees, shoulder shaking slightly. It would seem her son took after her in some ways after all: he had found his own method of burying his troubles, but did far better than her at living with them. Now, he looked smaller, curled up in on himself, and his voice was barely above a whisper.

“I thought maybe… once I killed all of them,” Ezio dragged his sleeve across his nose, “There would be something.  _ Anything _ . Not to celebrate after their deaths, but just…” his voice trailed off, lost as much in thought as she was. “Everyone responsible for their deaths is dead. Well, except Cesare Borgia. But to him we were  _ nothing _ , just a nest of wasps to burn away. And now that the Pazzis are gone, I feel like I have also done nothing more than remove a few troublesome pests.”

He stopped and sighed, his silence long and far away. When he spoke again, he was standing near the doorway with his hood up, “I’m sorry to have troubled you, Mother. I will not speak of the dead again.” 

And then he was gone, a wisp snatched out into the night.

Eventually, Maria’s gaze returned to the quilt, and she began to trace the swirls and brocade again, this time with her finger, rotating the pattern around and around in her head. Till it was the only thing in the room, and it’s distant end was the only thing she had to worry about.

**Author's Note:**

> In this house we love Mama Auditore. I wish the writers had let her heal later on in life at least; to leave her locked up in her own body like that was heart-breaking! I choose to believe Maria could occasionally hear her children speak to her, and tried to be there for them in the only way she was able. But trauma is a difficult thing, and I understand why it would be hard for her to return to living again.  
> Also: I know Jacopo de Pazzi wasn’t killed in the game till 1480, four years after the Auditore hanging. Maria does not know that more than a year has passed; she still thinks it’s only been a couple of months. It is also why she is so surprised at Ezio’s physical and emotional changes. 
> 
> Comments, feedback and kudos are loved and appreciated! This is my first work for the Assassin's Creed fandom so I'm a little nervous stepping in.


End file.
